Black Saints From History's Closet

Heroes On Pedestals But Not Free Of Frailties

February 20, 1989|By Russell L. Adams, Special to The Sentinel

Each February the names of black achievers and contributors such as Frederick Douglass, Booker T. Washington, George Washington Carver, Mary McLeod Bethune, Matthew Hensen, Ralph Bunche, and many others are pulled from history's closet, placed upon pedestals and praised.

The intent, of course, is to make us all aware of America's black heritage, a heritage only now beginning to be routinely included in school books and explored by the popular media. America's historical record indeed has been unfair to blacks, a record still containing omissions, distortions and stereotypes.

During the 28 days of nudging the public toward a more objective picture of the role and accomplishments of African-Americans, however, objectivity toward these personalities is neither desired nor silently tolerated. Nothing less than flattery is permitted, even though, as human beings, all of them possessed an unflattering side. Why the urge to make of them bronze saints and copper crusaders free of human frailties?

First, the answer to this question may be found in the fact that Black History Month has a semi-religious character for the Afro-American community. We must remember that proponents of Black History Month speak of ''celebrating'' the history.

Second, the celebrations imitate religious services, usually opening with songs and prayers and everyone on his or her best behavior. Each of the celebrants with speaking parts become, for the occasion, an apostle rendering homage to a savior.

As a rule, the individuals being celebrated, indeed, have overcome formidable odds on their way to distinction or have defied the status quo either victoriously or vainly. The celebrants all feel admiration and gratitude for their heroes' actions and contributions. This in turn leads to a posture of collective ownership of the deeds being recounted.

As a matter of fact, many Black History Month observers identify with the subjects of their adoration in a manner not unlike that of sports fans. The usual feelings about heroes, then, permit no negatives.

With the occasion being semi-sacred and the heroes without blemish, the transformation of heroes from simply remarkable individuals to bigger-than-life, near-mythical figures is inevitable. The dross of their lives is forgotten.

No one mentions the fact that Booker T. Washington lived like a Spanish grandee; or that the first black U.S. Army general, Benjamin O. Davis, disdained the ordinary black enlisted man; or that the brilliant scholar, W.E.B. DuBois, was a snob; or that the great back-to-Africa leader, Marcus Garvey, was envious of people of fair complexion; or that George Washington Carver, like the great Renaissance artist Michelangelo, suffered persistent rumors regarding his sexual orientation.

During Black History Month one does not publicly speculate about whether or not a martyred Martin Luther King led a morally blameless life.

One canonizes the works of Paul Laurence Dunbar without discussing his alcoholism, or the writings of a James Baldwin without mentioning his homosexuality. One does not ask why after writing Invisible Man, the distinguished Ralph Ellison has not published anything that remotely has the power and grandeur of that work.

Too much satisfaction, hope and dreams are invested in these figures by the black community for them to remain life-size; blemishes and warts have no place in the Black Hall of Fame.

The visual images of black heroes also undergo a transformation. In print, they are idealized, staring at the viewer with perfect, unblemished faces. Their postures are erect; their movements dramatic; their gestures frozen in elegance. On television, their deeds are announced in reverent, dignified and often smug tones. If their deeds are presented in docudrama form, the main characters usually have the gracefulness of a Cicely Tyson or the nobility of a Sidney Poitier. When the same individual is presented in all these various formats, the observer sees a superhuman, sainted personality.

While the viewer may be momentarily elevated through identification with the character, it may be at the cost of continued interest. This is especially true in the case of black pupils: If the individual is too ennobled, the child may conclude that in no way could he or she be that great. Greater objectivity might make for a more fruitful and lasting identification.

At the least, however, it is better to have bronze monuments that commemorate the main truths of the black experience than none at all.